


In A Fairytale

by Avasti



Series: Prompt Fill - For Fun! [6]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, M/M, Minor Character Death, Prompt Fill, Trans Character, Trans Nines, fairytale, minor Transphobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-19 02:01:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29499984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avasti/pseuds/Avasti
Summary: Reverse Cinderella. Markus is a happy ‘peasant’ living with his artist father, and Connor is the unhappy prince, running away to experience life outside the palace.I wrote this fast, so forgive me if it feels rushed? I hope it all makes sense (If you notice anything glaring, please let me know, thanks!)Nines is trans and his mother, the Queen, is opposed. Gavin knows and supports him entirely.
Relationships: Connor/Markus (Detroit: Become Human), Upgraded Connor | RK900/Gavin Reed
Series: Prompt Fill - For Fun! [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2151660
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27





	In A Fairytale

Nines frowns, watching Connor tie his boots, “Are you sure about this?”

“I want to live, Nines. Here, all I get is ‘Yes, Prince. No, Prince. Your fiance is arriving in a fortnight, Prince.” He cinches his boots tighter, “I don’t want to live like that.”

Nines fiddles with his own wedding band, a hard fought success over the tyrannical queen. Only won because of what she believes he is. Connor looks up, guilt already eating at him, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t. Gavin knows. As soon as I am crowned, I can start making changes. Changes to the stupid rule that we must marry royalty. The stupid ban on-” He bites his tongue, as Rose, the maid in charge of the two boys, approaches with a bag,

“Oh you two. Stop acting like I’m not on your side. Here’s some things for your trip, dear. I snuck some money in there too, just in case.” she turns on Nines, “And you. Where is your binder?”

“I had tea with Mother.”

“I see. Well, lets go get you ready for the day, hmm?”

She ushers Nines away and throws a wink in Connor’s direction. He feels a rush of warm appreciation, Rose went above and beyond for the two boys. When Nines went to her crying one night because his body didn’t fit right, she found him a binder and took him to their private doctor without the Queen’s knowledge. Officially, the Queen still doesn’t know. She was right furious when Nines cut his hair short though.

Connor pulls on his jacket and grabs the small bag, slipping silently into the evening. The trip into town is far longer than Connor is used to travelling, but he doesn’t want to risk alerting the Queen with any other transportation.

Still, all his walks with Nines and the physical training he has to do with the Royal Guard has paid off.

He pauses at the top of the last hill and gazes over the sprawling town below. Far more humble than the palace, but bursting with life. Smells and sounds and colors enough to make his head spin. 

“What brings the Prince to our humble town?”

Connor jumps at the old woman’s voice. She’s seated under a tree, knitting what he can assume is a scarf, and gazing into the distance with colorless eyes,

“I’m sorry?”

“You’re the Prince, yes?” she smiles and sets her knitting down, holding out a hand to him, “Come here, boy.”

Connor kneels carefully by her legs and sets his hand in hers. The contrast between them is alarming. His hands, pale and soft from a lifetime of easy living, held gently in hers, dark and rough from making and working.

“What brings our Prince to town? Running away from your mother?”

“I- well, you see-”

“Tsk.” she gently pulls him to sit beside her, “No need to explain, my dear. Care for some tea?” Without waiting for a response, she pours him a cup, handing it over before speaking, “I am Lucy. I can help you.”

“How?”

“Old magic, dear. You seek to know a new life? To live without boundaries and the burden of expectations? I must warn you, our life is not easy. Our hardships can be devastating.”

“I wish to know.”

“That’s what I thought. You’ll get nowhere with people recognizing you.” He doesn’t bother asking how _she_ recognized him. She doesn’t allow him to speak, anyway, “I will give you a glamor. They will see you as you are, but will not recognize you as the Prince. There is a celebration in the square tonight. I can give you a few hours of disguise. Until midnight.”

“That-” he moves to face her, “That would be amazing. Oh, more than I could ever hope for.”

She smiles, the look reminds him of Rose, motherly and loving. Lucy reaches out, wrapping the scarf around his neck, still attached to the ball of yarn. She mutters words, loud enough to be heard, but once Connor hears them, they slip from his mind without meaning. She gently touches her forefinger to his right temple and he gasps as the scarf disappears.

“There you go, dear. Remember, midnight.”

A few hours of freedom. He could weep. “Lucy, thank you. If there’s anything I can do in return-”

“No.” She settles back against the tree, closing her eyes, “You have done enough.”

He knows magic is real. The entire Kingdom knows, but never before has he witnessed something so phenomenal. He stands and continues down to the town, pausing part way down the hill, and looks back over his shoulder to find the space under the tree empty.

He needs to test this magic before running into the thick of things. He stops first by a nearby baker, purchasing a sweetroll. The man shows no recognition, and offers only polite conversation.

Connor spends the remainder of the evening exploring and talking to the people. They all show remarkable hospitality and kindness to him, even as a stranger. 

Finally the festivities start. Connor watches them from the sidelines, settled on the ground next to his pack. They dance so freely, with loud laughter and barely a care. They trade partners often, but always return to the one they started with. The dances are so new to him, but seem simple enough. He finds himself swaying to the music.

He’s pulled from his reverie with a gentle voice, “Can I paint you?”

Connor looks up at the man and feels his jaw drop. Watching him is a man, about his age, with two different colored eyes. He looks ethereal, crowned by the glowing lights of the festival, dressed in comfortable clothes. Connor looks down at his outstretched hand and blinks,

“Me?”

“Please?”

“But-” Even with his hesitance, he takes the man’s hand and moves to stand, “I’m nobody, really.”

The man tilts his head to the side, “You’re somebody to someone. You’re somebody to me. What’s your name?”

“Connor.”

“I’m Markus.” he gives Connor a dazzling smile and leads him to a decently lit area of the courtyard, where an easel and two seats wait. He poses Connor on one seat, and starts his work.

Connor has been painted before, is used to being yelled at when he moves, or smiles. So he doesn’t. 

Markus notices,

“You don’t have to sit like you have a stick up your ass…” he throws Connor a smirk, “Unless you’d like one.”

Connor lets out a very un-princely snort, and tries to cover his giggles. Markus shakes his head, “No, no, no. Don’t hide yourself. You’re beautiful and I want to paint the real you.”

Connor feels his cheeks heat, and lowers his hand, “I’m not used to being able to snort or laugh.”

Markus, now focused more on his drawing, frowns, “Why?”

“It’s not polite.”

Markus hums, “Happiness is not offensive. No one should ever decide what makes another feel joy.” He flashes a smile, “I rather like your snort.”

Connor doesn’t know how long he sits. Time passes so easily around Markus. Once the awkwardness of first meetings pass, they really get to know each other. And tease each other. Connor has never laughed so hard in his life, or felt such pure happiness. Markus gives so freely, loves so openly, holds so much passion.

Markus sets his brush in water and wipes his hands on his pants, “Alright. I’m done.”

Connor stands to look, and gasps, “Markus… This is incredible. The Palace should commission you!”

“I don’t know about that.” Markus rubs his neck, fighting a blush, and Connor shakes his head in wonder. The painting, if he’d seen it earlier that day, he’d never recognize it as himself. Surrounded with color, beaming at the viewer- at Markus, filled with such life, Connor feels like it could replace him.

The thought hurts him.

He turns to Markus, “Dance with me?”

Without argument, Markus pulls him deeper into the courtyard and teaches Connor the dances, not minding once when he steps on Markus’ foot or trips over a crack in the stone. They get drunk off the atmosphere.

Eventually the energy drains. The music is no less lively, just toned down, allowing for couples to dance together and people in the surrounding homes to rest if they need. 

Connor nuzzles his face into Markus’ neck, moving easily with his steps and breathing in the comforting smell of the artist. He can’t place any specific scent, just decides that he rather enjoys it. He likes Markus’ hands on his hips and back, his breath in his ear, his fingers in his hair when he moves Connor’s face closer.

He really likes Markus’ lips on his own. Fitting together like long lost puzzle pieces, like a key in a lock, like a perfectly fitted shoe.

The gong of the courtyard clock tower snaps Connor to attention,

“Oh! Is it midnight?” Markus opens his mouth to speak, but Connor shakes his head, “I have to go. It was a lovely night, oh thank you for- thank you.” He presses a kiss to Markus’ lips and turns to leave.

Markus grabs his hand, “Please don’t go! Connor, whatever you’re running from, I can help.”

It’s an impulse. An urge that he’s sure will end in ruin, but he pulls off his ring, handing it to Markus, “Remember me?”

“What? Of course I will, Connor-”

Connor runs. The last few strikes of the bell will sound soon and he needs to be gone from the courtyard. It wouldn’t be life-ending, but his mother would likely have Markus’ head. With the fear of that future burning behind his eyes, Connor doesn’t stop running until he reaches the palace. He bathes with haste and slips into bed, heart still pounding but brimming with joy.

What a wonderful night. He got a glimpse into the lives of his people and so much more. He’ll have to tell Nines about his impulsive decision in the morning. The ring is unique, but not obvious enough that Markus will tie it to the palace.

Despite Connor’s last plea, he hopes Markus forgets him.

…

Markus loses Connor in the crowd and stands on the edge of the courtyard, holding the ring and kicking himself for not digging deeper. How will he find Connor again? What did he mean, ‘remember me’ how could he forget? 

Markus feels a strange heavy sensation fall over him and he blinks in confusion. He remembers Connor. His name, his hair, but… his face, he can’t picture his face.

He sighs and walks to his easel, picking up the bag Connor had left behind and glancing at the painting he’d abandoned to dance with the man who had stolen his heart. The man whom he’d painted.

It takes him a few seconds, but he blinks past the confusion and hurt and sleep. The image he’d painted is of the Prince. Prince Connor. He’d danced with the Prince! He kissed the Prince! 

He has the Prince’s ring!

He gathers his supplies and hurries home to find his father, he’ll know what to do.

…

“The Queen has taken ill.”

Connor wakes to the news after his night of freedom and it feels…. Wrong.

He sits with Nines at the table as the family doctor gives them the news. Too contagious for visitors. Won’t live past the night.

Connor feels like he shouldn't be happy.

Once they’re alone, Nines looks at him and offers a small smile and it breaks the tense air like thin ice. Connor sighs, they can’t rejoice. Not verbally. Not yet. They still have an image to uphold and people to please, but it feels like they can relax.

Over the next few days, Connor spends very little time alone. He prepares for his Mother’s funeral, and when given the political ok, helps plan the coronation. They need an artist to paint the two Kings’ portraits and Connor grins. He knows just the painter.

Connor heads out onto the lawn of the palace, headed to give the invite to the runner, when he sees a man approach the gates. One man and one canvas. But Connor would recognize him anywhere.

“Markus.” There’s no way he remembers Connor. 

Connor walks closer, within earshot, close enough to see as Markus turns the painting towards the guards and sees his face. The painting.

“Markus!” 

Mismatched eyes lock on his and Markus beams, “Connor! I remember you!”

“Let him in, please.”

With barely enough room around the gate, Markus and Connor run into each other’s arms. Pressing into a relieved kiss. Fitted together like puzzle pieces, like a key in it’s lock.

Like a perfectly fitted pair of shoes.


End file.
